The Rising Storm

forgotten about the letter.' Then, his expression changing to one of suspicion, he gave her a dark look, and added: 'But what is he to you? Why should you take up the cudgels on his behalf? Tell me. What is he to you?'

Roger's heart missed a beat. For a moment it had seemed that Donna Livia's good nature had saved him. But now his hopes were in jeopardy once more. Would she dare to continue in the role of his champion? And if she did might she not further inflame to his disadvantage her royal lover's jealous mania ?

She shrugged her shoulders. 'He is to me no more than a foreigner whose opinion may redound to my dear Prince's credit or otherwise. Should he succeed in escaping unaided he will carry but a poor opinion of Your Highness to England and elsewhere. Therefore, for the honour of Tuscany, I pray you give him a pass so that he may leave the city tonight, and thus at least have a fair chance of eluding his enemies.'

In horrible suspense Roger waited for the Grand Duke's reply. At length Leopold nodded. 'You are right. To let him be caught through having remained here on my business would ill become me. And if I do as you suggest it cannot afterwards be proved that I did so knowing that he was Sis Monsieur de Breuc that the Frescobaldi are seeking.'

Fishing in his waistcoat pocket, he produced a small gold medallion, that had his head on one side of it and a figure of Mercury upon the other. Holding it out to Roger, he said:

'This is a talisman carried only by couriers bearing my most urgent despatches. Even should the police already be at Meggot's, on your producing it they will not dare to detain you; and on your showing it at the guard- house of the Pisa gate the gate will be opened for you.'

As he took the medallion Roger went down on one knee and mur­mured his gratitude; then, his boldness returning, he begged permission to kiss Donna Livia's hand, as that of his protectress.

Permission being granted she extended her hand to him and said severely: 'I trust your narrow escape will be a lesson to you, Miester Brook. And that should you return to Tuscany you will bear it well in mind that His Highness's high moral rectitude is unlikely to permit him again to show leniency, should you indulge in acts of seduction.'

Roger felt the laughter bubbling inside him, but he dared show his appreciation of her witty sally only by the twinkling of his eyes. With renewed thanks to the Grand Duke he bowed his way from the room, and two minutes later was out of the house.

At Meggot's he learned to his relief that no one had enquired for him; so he had his things packed, paid his bill, mounted his grey and rode off through the almost deserted streets to the Pisa gate. There, after a short wait, an officer was fetched who, at the sight of the medallion, at once had the gate opened. The clocks of Florence were chiming eleven as he left the city.

He thought it almost certain that the courier's talisman would have secured his exit at any other gate, and that the Grand Duke had specified the one opening on to the Pisa road only because he had been led to suppose that his visitor meant to head for Leghorn and England. But now, being aware of his suspicious nature, Roger feared that he might check up the following morning, so had followed his instructions to the letter. Doing so necessitated riding in a great semi-circle round the outside of the city wall, but another twenty minutes brought him on to the Pontassieve road. As he turned eastward along it he felt that at last he had put Florence and its dangers behind him.

Yet, again he became oppressed by his sense of guilt as the thought of the way in which he had spent the earlier part of the evening kept on recurring to him. For a little he took refuge in the argument that if he had not pleasured Donna Livia she might not later have come to his rescue, and that by this time, instead of still being a free man, he might be on his way to one of the Grand Duke's prisons. But he knew that the argument did not hold water, because he had given way in the first situation before he had the least idea that the second might occur.

He then began to wonder if the episode had been a great exception in Donna Livia's life, and, flattering as it would have been to assume so, he decided that it probably had not. Her remark that he need not concern himself about the old nurse certainly suggested that it was not the first time she had deceived her royal lover. No doubt she had to be extremely careful to whom she offered such opportunities, and confined her gallantries to men like himself, who came to her house by chance and it was unlikely that she would see again. He wondered if any such had ever refused her, and in view of her beauty decided that was most improbable. If so, the odds were that some of those others had also betrayed young wives or sweethearts at the temptation of her passionate embrace. That thought was a comfort in a way, but somehow it did not make him much less ashamed of himself.

Once more the idea came to him that a mocking Fate might yet make him pay for those two hours of blissful abandon that he had spent in Donna Livia's arms. But he had suffered such acute apprehension during the hour that followed that he hoped the god of: Fidelity—if there was one—might consider he had been punished enough already.

As he rode through Pontassieve every house was dark arid shuttered. On passing the inn he looked up at Isabella's window, and he wished desperately that he had never been compelled to leave her that afternoon. But it was no good crying over spilt milk. The great thing was that he would be with her again the following morning, and the sooner he forgot the existence of the lovely, wanton Donna Livia the better.

Ten minutes later he was knocking up the people at the farm. The man had been sleeping in his day clothes and, shuffling out, led the grey round to the stable. Roger took off his outer things, pulled the blankets of his bed- roll round him, and in a few minutes was sleeping the sleep of the unrighteous—which .at times a merciful Providence permits to be as sound as that of the just.

When he woke in the morning he felt splendidly well. All the heavi­ness that he had been feeling for the past few weeks was gone. He decided that the night before he had been making mountains out of molehills, and could now view his brief affaire with Donna Livia in proper perspective. It had been a marvellous experience and one that he would not have missed for worlds. To take a Grand Duke's favourite mistress practically under his nose was no small triumph. No young man of courage and sense could possibly have resisted such an opportunity; and had he been fool enough to do so he would have regretted it ever afterwards. Just to think of lying on one's deathbed and remembering that one had had such a chance, yet acted the prude and not taken it! How his dear Georgina would have mocked him, had he confessed to her such a failure to play the man through silly scruples. Far from forgetting the passionate Tuscan, she would become one of his treasured memories, and that would not interfere in the very least with his genuine devotion to Isabella.

Having washed himself and dressed he ate a simple but hearty breakfast, of four fresh eggs and a huge chunk of home-cured ham, with voracious appetite. Then, humming gaily to himself, he sought to kill time* by wandering round the farm slashing the heads off weeds with the point of his sword. He felt that he could have jumped a five- barred gate or taken on half a dozen of the Grand Duke's police single-handed.

At ten past eight he loaded his things into the panniers of one of the mules, and the farmer helped him to saddle up the other animals; then, at a few minutes before the half-hour, now filled with happy anticipa­tion at the thought of getting off, he strode with a buoyant step as far as the road to welcome Isabella on her arrival.

Half past eight came but no Isabella. For ten minutes he sauntered up and down quite unperturbed, but by a quarter to nine he began to grow a little impatient. At ten minutes to the hour his exaltation had collapsed like a pricked balloon; five minutes later he had become the prey of desperate anxiety.

Suddenly it occurred to him that she might have thought that he had timed the rendezvous for nine o'clock. For a few minutes the idea brought him intense relief. But the hour still brought no sign of her. With an effort he compelled himself to give her a further five minutes' grace. Then he could bear it no longer. Running to his grey, he swung himself into the saddle and galloped off up the road to the inn.

Outside it there was no coach; none of her servants was visible. The place lay quiet in the morning sunshine; it showed no activity of any kind. White with dismay, and feeling as though the heavens were about to fall upon him, he flung himself from his horse and dashed inside.

In the kitchen he found the innkeeper, preparing a piece of raw meat. The man gave him a curious look, then with a greasy thumb and forefinger drew a letter from his apron pocket.

'I was expecting you, Signor,' he said in Italian. 'The Signorina left here late in the afternoon of yesterday, and her maid asked me to give you this.'

Snatching the letter Roger tore it open with trembling fingers. The writing was barely legible, having run in places where it had been copiously watered with Isabella's tears. Half blinded with his own, and, in an agony to know what had occurred, skipping from line to line, he gradually made it out. It ran:

O love of my life.